


The Pros And Cons Of Everyday Manners

by silverlining99



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-29
Updated: 2009-09-29
Packaged: 2017-10-28 23:19:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/313278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverlining99/pseuds/silverlining99
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>McCoy is rude. Chapel is tired of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Pros And Cons Of Everyday Manners

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: McCoy/Chapel, "you need to learn to ask nicely."

If there’s one thing McCoy has gotten used to over the first year of working aboard the Enterprise, it’s that his head nurse has a mind of her own and a mouth she’s perfectly willing to use to express it, without always wasting time on tact, diplomacy, or anything but the most basic semblance of deference.

If there’s another thing, it’s that he’s never minded a single bit of it. He’s fairly clear on the reasons for that, as well: Christine always has a good reason when she gets stubborn and stern, she’s always right in the end, and -- not that it matters for professional purposes, but it doesn’t exactly _hurt_ \-- he always finds it almost overwhelmingly attractive when she digs her heels in about something and challenges him to his face.

Hell, there are some days when the only thing keeping him from sitting her down and forcing her to apply to the medical academy is the conviction that his med bay would fall apart without her.

That’s the reason he tells himself, anyway.

Shortly into the second year, though, something shifts, something he doesn’t like and would really love to be able to put a stop to, if he could just figure out what was causing it. Christine starts giving him chilly stares at times, long pauses and annoyed glares before following instructions she used to be perfectly obliging about.

He can’t, for the life of him, put rhyme or reason to it. If he’s offended her, he can’t imagine what it was he did, and if she’s just going through something and taking it out on him, she’s keeping aggravatingly silent about anything that might give him a hint. It pisses him off more than anything, the sense that she’s either mad at him or struggling in some way, and refusing to let him try to do anything about it in either case.

The breaking point comes at the end of a normal administrative meeting. Christine’s being herself for once, relaxed and light-hearted in a way he’s sort of missed seeing, until he reviews his notes to see if they’ve missed anything.

“Oh,” he mentions idly, “I still need the next duty roster for the nursing staff, and the last batch of physical reports needs to be coded and transmitted to Starfleet.”

Her tone goes cool when she responds.“You’ll have the roster by the end of the shift. As for the reports, well. That’s interesting. Have fun with it.”

“Excuse me?”

She sits back and shrugs. “Updating the central database does fall within your responsibilities as CMO, doesn’t it?”

McCoy frowns at her, startled. “You’ve always taken care of it.”

“Yes, I have. Which has been, I might point out, very nice of me since it’s not actually my job and it takes a lot more time because I have to add an extra notation to each one certifying that you’ve given me the proper authority to transmit them. Not that you ever really have, since _I_ decided to take on the job to save _you_ the trouble. But honestly, Doctor, it’s a pain in my ass and I think I’ll let you handle it this time, if it’s all the same to you.”

Sheer annoyance sets pressure to throbbing in his temples. A perfectly pleasant day, up in smoke just like that. “It’s _not_ all the same to me,” he grinds out. “So I’m delegating.”

“And I’m declining,” she says. “Write me up if you have to; I won’t take it personally.”

For the love of God, he thinks, he’s so goddamn sick of this attitude that’s taken the place of the woman he _used_ to enjoy working with. “Okay, Chapel, I give up,” he snaps. “What the hell is your problem?”

She looks at him calmly, her lips twisted in an unimpressed purse, one eyebrow arched. He knows that look - hell, he’s _given_ that look to countless rookies and his own damn _kid_. It says nothing so much as _you are being ridiculous, and I expect you to stop it._ Now _would be nice._

He is distinctly unamused by being on the receiving end of it.

He’s fairly sure she knows it, too, from the glint in her eye before she turns her attention back to PADD in her hand. “I don’t think I’m the one with the problem, Doctor,” she says easily.

“Then why in the name of all that is holy are you being so impossible lately?”

“I’m not. I just decided to stop spoiling you. Which makes this _your_ problem to deal with, not mine.”

“You think putting up with you _before_ you got all pissy about everything was being spoiled? Christ, I practically deserve a medal for all the crap I let you get away with.”

“That’s rich.”

“If you’ve got a point, I’m missing it.”

“Yes, you obviously are. Here’s the thing, Doctor -- you just bark things out and expect me to take care of everything.”

“So?”

Her jaw firms in a determined set and, even angry at her, he thinks her startlingly beautiful like this. “ _So_ , it’s presumptuous. You need to learn to ask nicely.”

He needs to.... McCoy narrows his eyes and sits back. “I don’t ask nicely,” he snaps.

“Clearly.” Her tone is aggravatingly, condescendingly patient. “Which is why I said you need to _learn_ to.”

“I really don’t,” he drawls. “That’s one of the perks of being in charge, Chapel, not having to grovel for every damned thing that should be getting done without me _having_ to ask.”

“And one of the perks of being a grown woman who holds three degrees and, by the way, the same damn rank as you, is that I’m entitled to a little more respect than you tend to dole out.”

“Is that what this is about? You getting a big head over your promotion?”

She sighs. “You’re an idiot.”

He bristles at that. “Watch it, Nurse.”

“You watch it, _Doctor_. This isn’t even about the job. That was just the only means to an end I had.” She stands and, as usual, he can’t help but eye the slim line of her body, the way her uniform clings to it. “This is about that, right there.”

Damn it, he thinks, and jerks his gaze guiltily to her face. “What?”

She shakes her head wearily. “All you have to do is _ask_ ,” she tells him quietly. “That’s all you’ve ever had to do. But have it your way, if that’s what you want. Excuse me.”

He stays at his desk for a long time after she’s gone, staring at the empty seat she’d occupied. She has, he realizes, pulled a fast one on him, and just the hint of possibility in her final words tempts him to cave, to give her exactly what she’s angling for.

To get exactly what he’s been wanting, in the first place.

But something nags at him, and he worries it over until long after the shift change. When he finally makes up his mind and signs off duty, and stalks directly to her quarters, it’s with a silent prayer that he’s going about this the right way.

Christine lets him in with a called invitation, and he walks in to find her curled up in a chair, her hair down, her uniform exchanged for a loose tunic and skirt. She sets her book aside and stands when he enters. “Something I can help you with?” she asks coolly.

He eyes her thoughtfully, decided once and for all that he’s right about this. “You don’t make one shred of sense, you know that?” he tells her, approaching until he’s only a few feet from her.

She frowns a little, her brow scrunching in confusion. He finds that his hands itch to touch her face, to physically smooth the wrinkles and thumb her lips back into their natural, upward curve. He wants to touch the spill of her hair, her skin, everything. “I don’t understand,” she admits.

He steps closer and crowds her until she steps back, confusion giving way to something more nervous, more uncertain. He keeps moving until she backs into the shelving unit she’s filled with books and small trinkets from various planets. “Yes, you do. You just thought I wouldn’t.”

“I have --” She falters as he pins her in with one hand on the shelf next to her shoulder and the other wrapping around the back of her neck. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Let me go.”

“Not until you quit playing games and tell me the truth.”

She goes rigid as he leans into her, as he brushes his nose against her temple and breathes in the scent of her hair. “I _told_ you -”

“Bullshit. If you wanted pretty pleases and cherries on top,” he murmurs against her ear, and notes the way she trembles, “I wouldn’t be the one you want giving them to you.”

She hesitates. “Hm. Caught that, huh?”

“Yeah,” he says dryly. He draws back and stares at her and tightens his grip on her neck, kneads the muscles slowly. “Kiss me.”

“No.”

It takes everything in him to accomplish, but he lets her go. “Fine,” he says, stepping back. His mind latches onto something she said earlier, and he smirks. “Have it your way.”

“Bastard,” she breathes, and then her hands clench around fistfuls of his shirt, her mouth crashes against his, the force of her body surging against him makes him stumble back even as he wraps his arms around her waist and lifts her off her feet. She bites his lip, hard, and above all else he’s satisfied to know that she’s no delicate, swooning flower of a woman; he’d never have expected it of her, and would have been disappointed to be proven wrong. “Stubborn fucking son-of-a-bitch,” she adds, and wraps her legs around his hips as he jostles her weight in his arms.

He makes his way slowly, carefully into her bedroom, distracted by the sweep of her tongue against his. He’s well aware of giving her no opportunity to escape, kneeling on her bed and lowering his own body along with hers, but there’s no real fight to her squirming when he untangles her arms from around him and pins them to the bed. It’s just a pretense she keeps up while he kisses her firmly, until he pulls back.

“Christine,” he says firmly, and tightens his hands around her wrists. Her neck cranes to in an attempt to catch his lips again, but he dodges. “Tell me you want this.”

She stills, but for the rapid rise and fall of her chest, and she stares at him until he ducks his head and sucks wetly at her earlobe. “Please,” he adds, a quiet murmur designed to do exactly what it does: wring a choked moan from her, get her to lift her hips desperately against his.

“I want it,” she whispers. Her head falls to the side to let him explore the expanse of her neck. “I’ve wanted it since we launched, you stupid, pig-headed --”

“Save the insults for someone who cares,” he interrupts, laughing softly against her shoulder. He lets go of her wrists and pushes up on one hand, digs his knees into the bed, creates just enough room to fumble at his pants.

Christine takes the opportunity to seize his face and maneuver him into the kiss she’s wanted, deep and hungry, sucking hard at his tongue as he frees his aching cock and shoves her skirt up around her waist. He yanks hard at her underwear, struggles to get them out of the way without ceding his place between her thighs until a better idea occurs to him and he crawls down her body, ignoring her huff of protest in favor of dragging the fabric down as he goes and finally, gratefully pushing her legs wide. “Let’s see if you feel like bitching about this,” he mutters, and presses his face to her.

She’s wet already, slick under his tongue, fragrant. And responsive as all hell; her thighs tense and quiver under his palms and her hips jerk as he scrapes his teeth over her clit and licks at her, sucks hard on her swollen flesh. “Oh god,” she gasps. Her fingers twist in his hair and her feet dig into his back, and he doesn’t fight her pulling him tight against her. There’d be no point; he’s as hungry for it as she is, finds he needs her release as much as she does.

He opens her with his fingers, careful at first and then more rough, allowing the surge of her hips to tell him what she wants. “More,” she says frantically. It’s unnecessary, but the sound of her voice, high and needy, is a welcome goad. “More, I need --”

McCoy lifts his head against the tug of her hands, just long enough to bite the soft, sweaty skin of her inner thigh and say, “ask nicely, why don’t you?” before curling his fingers inside her and flicking his tongue rapidly, firmly against her clit.

Christine, he discovers with no small measure of satisfaction, comes with the same dedicated determination she gives to everything else. Her spine arches sharply and she moans loudly, and she takes her time about relaxing even once he relents and moves to press small kisses to the curve of her belly below the bunched fabric of her skirt. “Leonard,” she finally says, breathlessly, raking her fingers through his hair, “pretty please with a cherry on top, would you get up here and fuck me already?”

“Good god,” he groans. It’s a near-impossible effort to hide his smile as he pushes up onto his knees and starts dragging his shirt over his head. “It’s just one thing after another with you, isn’t it?”

She laughs and sits up to work on her own disheveled clothes. “You better believe it, baby. Tell you what, keep me happy here and I’ll be good on duty, cross my heart.”

“That’s a devil’s deal if ever I heard one, honey.” He pushes her back down and dips to nuzzle between her breasts. He rubs his cock along her slick flesh and starts a slow press into her.

She sighs contentedly and draws him back up to her lips. “You’re not as bad as all that,” she teases between long, leisurely kisses. He sinks deeps and rests there, knows he won’t last long, not this time, not with her tight and hot around him and her hands gliding over his back, her mouth moving along his jaw. She moves easily with him as he rolls his hips against hers. “I bet you can be positively angelic if you wanted.”

He snorts and thrusts hard, wrenches a gasp from her. “Don’t count on it.”

She doesn’t respond; she can’t be bothered, he assumes, too caught up in the build to another orgasm when he touches her with deft fingers and establishes a firm, steady rhythm to the glide of his cock inside her. It’s a near thing, getting her there first, and by the time she flutters around him he’s beyond ready to let go, to let himself have the last thrilling rush of having her, finally.

She makes no move to push his weight off her, just wraps her arms around him and tickles between his shoulder blades. “That was,” she murmurs idly, and kisses his temple, “the toughest time I’ve ever had convincing you to do something.”

McCoy rolls, takes her along to lie on top of him. “You could have just asked,” he mutters, drowsy and content.

“Mm.” She rests her cheek on his chest and yawns. “Maybe I’ll try that next time.”


End file.
